Lena Bradfield walked past
her mother three times at the bus station before she recognized her.
It was her hair. Dyed a jet black, it had been ratted and back combed
into an elaborate bouffant.

"Ma?" Lena said when she finally recognized her. "What'd you do to your
hair?" Her mother seemed bewildered by this greeting and absently
patted her hair as though to remind herself what had happened.
"It looks like Elizabeth Taylor's," she said then.

"Says who?"

"Myra, over at Geltone."

"Don't believe it for a minute," Lena said.

Her mother's face fell. "It doesn't look like Elizabeth Taylor?"

"It looks like shit, Ma," Lena said then swooped to kiss her and help
her to her feet.
She picked up her mother's suitcase and the paper
shopping bag she always brought filled with newspapers, knitting,
half-eaten packages
of cookies, and canned foods. Her mother clutched a bulging black
patent leather purse.

"How are you?" Lena asked as they pushed out the door of the bus depot.

"Oh, you know."

"How was the trip out?"

"Long. I talked to a nice lady who got on in Ohio. She got off in Iowa.
She was going to
visit her daughter too. We don't understand what you're doing all the
way out here in the
Midwest."

Lena opened the trunk and loaded her mother's things. "Ma, why do you
bring so much?
You think we don't have newspapers or food in Lincoln? What?" Her
mother shrugged
and smiled vacantly.

Once everything had been packed in the trunk, Lena helped her mother
into the passenger
side of the car.

"Where's Carl?" Her mother looked around the car as though she
thought he might be
hiding in the backseat.

"He's at home. You'll see him when we get there."

Carl made dinner that evening, his specialty, Thai Lemon Grass Soup.
While Lena cleaned
the dishes afterwards he asked, "Mrs D, would you like a bump of scotch?"